


i'll hold in these hands / all that remains

by remuslupin



Category: Merlin (TV), Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Character Study, M/M, Past Relationship(s), World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-30 17:37:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17833100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remuslupin/pseuds/remuslupin
Summary: the first world war leads magnus to paris in search of help when merlin goes missing at the western front.





	i'll hold in these hands / all that remains

**Author's Note:**

> i highly doubt anyone's going to read this piece but! hello, i write magnus/merlin on tumblr and have totally fallen head over heels for this ship. the gist of this story's premise is that merlin has travelled to the western front in france during the first world war, and has subsequently disappeared in his bid to assist the allied soldiers. having realised this, magnus made his way to paris in a bid to find someone to portal him to verdun, and as gossip tends to spread particularly quickly, it didn't take long for the high warlock of paris aka antoine mépris aka magnus' old bedfellow to hear about it. (antoine is my oc, pls don't use him for your own stories!) 
> 
> i hope i didn't over-explain lmao but the summary is that it's really kind of an in-between vignette! i'm sure you can pick up on the rest! enjoy xoxo
> 
> you = antoine.

you recognise him before you've even seen his face. "magnus bane," comes the enticing purr that spills from your lips like honey & permeates the very air between the two of you, the sweet scent drawing the other to a halt and a heavy exhale as he turns on his heel. there’s only a hint of reluctance hidden beneath his smooth movements, and you count it as a victory.

"antoine," he returns, politely, but you see the rubber band that is his temper as it simmers beneath his skin, ready to snap if one dared to pull too hard (and strangely enough, it makes your lip curl, eyes alight with the promise of excitement). "are you following me?"

you aren't. well — not exactly, but magnus doesn't need to be made privy to mere semantics. the truth of the matter is that word tended to travel fast when it concerned the immortal community in europe, and you'd heard of magnus' arrival in paris from a particularly tipsy vampire — one of the late st. cloud's coven members, who often enjoyed lamenting that bane had been allowed back into the city at all — and really, could you be blamed for wanting to follow the rumours and seek out an old flame?

still, you're careful to ensure that your explanation is a great deal simpler. "you are in my city, _mon ange_ ," comes your parry, brow lifting in a silent invitation for him to engage. "i could very well ask the same of yourself."

"i'm not—" but the sentiment is dissolved within the depths of a heavy sigh as promptly as it had begun, and it's only in hindsight that you find the intuitive discomfort in your gut had begun well before he gives a weary shake of his head (hindsight also bestows you with the realisation that this was not the magnus you had familiarised yourself with at the height of the revolution; this magnus did not swing his shoulders to get his way, or creep forward until you were absolutely drunk on the carefree attention that he had chosen to bestow upon you. this magnus looked _tired_ , achingly so, and exhaustion has never been a drink or a drug any more or less than a truth serum — but you like to think that you’re beginning to grasp the difference between the facts and fictions that he has always enjoyed spinning and cannot help but wonder if he knows just how honest he seemed). "i'm looking for someone. merlin."

"ah, your _english_ friend," you acknowledge — after allowing for a moment to at least pretend to think about the name, that is; as if you haven't already heard it a hundred times before. "tell me, magnus: legend of old or not, was the personal blight so necessary?"

"he's _missing_ ," magnus continues vehemently, as if you hadn't spoken at all. "he's missing, and i need to find someone to take me to verdun. his last letter was sent from there."

it takes only the mention of the riverside city for you to recognise what merlin had been doing there before he'd disappeared, at the very least. war has been raging in the area for months as a result of the german advance; though you suspect that it would take a miracle greater than _emrys_ to bring the conflict to a proper resolution. "forgive me if i speak in error, but did you not play a part in creating the portal? i'm sure you have some familiarity with instant travel."

the scoff that leaves his lips as he stares at you is like a shard of _ice_ , but you meet it with practiced ease, even if his words leave you at a loss. "i _can't_ — i've never been there before, and i cannot risk travelling on foot. not when—"

he doesn't finish, but you understand the notion all the same. disease killed just as often as bullet wounds amidst the archaic medicine that doctors on the front lines tended to utilise, and even immortals are not immune to injury.

“i let him go alone,” magnus finishes, finally. “i will never forgive myself if something happened to him and i was not there to help.”

"does he truly mean so much to you that you would wade through the armageddon the mundanes have created just to save him?" the question isn't incredulous so much as it is inquisitive: you aren't sure that you would do the same for anyone (not even him, really), and it's now that you are reminded just how _human_ magnus can be. it's a rarity amongst your kind; and so is the open display of worry carved into every inch of his sharp features.

his throat swells with the effort that blooms from his attempt to swallow, and you watch the hypnotising dip of his adam's apple, daring you to draw nearer as it paints a picture of the other that you thought did not exist. to see him weak is to see another side to him, a side that you had never suspected he possessed, and it’s without truly thinking that you grant yourself a moment to pretend that you're the one he's agonising over; and not a stranger who's likely lying dead amongst the violets in verdun.

"i love him," he says, simply.

it's a far cry from his usual demands, and yet — "i will take you."

"what?"

the art of masquerading is a luxury that you revel in, but you know that you’re powerless to deny him. you’d learned long ago, after all, that magnus is not the angel he appeared to be: angels did not steal and lie. angels were not the sons of demons. but the spell is not broken, and you fear it never will be; this ever-evolving infatuation with magnus bane, the revolutionary enigma. still, you smile, knowing that you can still pretend some of the power remains in your hands. “i will take you.”

**Author's Note:**

> as always, kudos and/or reviews are endlessly appreciated!


End file.
